Prelude to an Exit
by Syril Silverleaf
Summary: Post X-3. When we find out that the cure is not all it seems, what will happen to all those who still think a war is coming? Will the fight continue? Or have we learned a thing or two since then? Slight AU, and comic-y. R&R, I NEED feedback!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay so in my world, the professor is still alive, The Pheonix only fucked with his telepathy a bit, Scott is missing, no one really knows what happned to him (But the professor has his suspicians...), Logan is Logan, angsty and moody, but still drops in and out, mor in nowadays...Beast is a teacher at the school, but still has all of his political connections, and has taken over the role of recruitment. Rogue and Magneto both got cured, but some new light is being shed on the back draft of it, I plan to introduce several characters from the comic, including everyone's fav. Cajun, but that will be for later.

I swear to my god and any god that my readers worship, that i do not own any characters but my own, and make no profit from this story.

Please Review, I'm not sure if i'm gonna continue, I might take it down in the response if bad. There's no X men in this chapt, but someone blue will be showing up soon!

Enjoy--  
Syril

Chapter One

"Do you hear me!?"

Izzy blinked once at the outraged woman in front of her, rousing her from the trance she'd let herself sink into since the onslaught of scolding began. "Of course I hear you." Her classmates snickered softly, the sound echoing through Izzy's head like a caress compared to the assault of Mrs. Smith's offence. How could she not? The woman had reached volumes tantamount to a thunder storm.

Mrs. Smith's face turned redder, if that was possible. "I don't like your tone, missy! It's an attitude like that that's going to land your insolent little butt in jail. Honestly, what does your mother think of you?"

Frankly, Izzy had no idea what her mother had to do with anything, and as she ran a pale hand through her messily cut, died black hair she arched a brow at Mrs. Smith, her English teacher. But if the good teacher was asking..."She thinks I'm the devil spawn of her sins come back to haunt her, ma'am."

Mrs. Smith's wrinkly chins jiggled as she stared down at Izzy with a look of shock. Sadly the silence this brought was short lived. The old woman's mouth snapped shut and her beady eyes gleamed down at Izzy. "I've had enough of your cheek and disrespect, Isabelle Richter. Leave my classroom immediately. I'm sure the principle is going to be eager to hear about this!"

Izzy sighed and hauled herself to her feet, to the applauding and cheers of her classmates.

"Right on!"

"You lucky bitch!"

"A new record, Richter," her classmates called.

However they all fell silent under Mrs. Smith sharp eyes and even sharp snap of "Silent!"

It was a record. Thirty minutes into the new semester and she was already being sent to the principles office. A small smile slid across the girl's face as she looked over her situation. The principles office on the first day, let alone the first period, was never a good thing…If she was going down, she might as well do it well.

Sauntering over to the door, Izzy stopped and turned to give Mrs. Smith her trademark insolent smirk. Bowing from the waist, as she swung her book bag up to her shoulder, she said loudly. "A pleasure as always, ma'am."

The look on the pissy old woman's face was priceless.

A new round of cheers left her as she swung the metal door shut, as well as Mrs. Smith's roaring attempts to quiet her class. Izzy felt a brief flash of pity for the woman, for her classmates were all the same as her. They had been deemed "problem children" from a young age, and by the time they got to tenth grade had had enough time to perfect their attitudes of disrespect and disdain for the establishment. Izzy knew it was only luck that had singled her out this morning for Smith's wrath, which was in fact an ill-concealed power play. But, hey, if smacking Izzy hands and berating her publicly made the woman feel more in control, why not just go along without a fuss? It got her away from the crowds and out of any homework, and who didn't enjoy a little educational disruption?

Smith's control over the class was all an illusion, anyway. The only reason any of those other kids was that, like her, if they didn't show up to school they would be expelled and in a whole lot of hurt with their parents.

Most of them anyway. But like Izzy, several others were only there because it helped keep them covered. It helped throw off people from thinking they were mutants. If they behaved like all the other human delinquents at the school, what reason would anyone have to think that they were different?

Ah, the joys of mutanthood, Izzy thought as she began to walk towards the stairs that would lead her to the main office. So far, no one had been alerted to her own condition. She yawned and jumped down the last two steps.

"What happened now?"

Principle Shirley shuffled through the papers on his desk, squinting about through his glasses, not two hours after Mrs. Smith's banishment. First day of new semester jitters and kinks had kept the administration hopping until then, allowing Izzy to sit in a corner and stare blankly until someone could get to her. And it was the big man himself.

"Didn't Mrs. Smith send down a note or something?"

Shirley squinted at her, his annoyance flickering across his face. "It's a wonder I haven't expelled you yet, Richter. The terms of your academic probation were clear. These little incidents were supposed to have stopped, by now. Quite frankly, I am sick of this from you." Shirley seemed to have come to an acceptable order for the papers on his desk, as he left them stacked neatly there in front of him and turned all his attention to her. "Now are you going to tell me what happened or should I go fetch some witnesses? Those are always so fun for us. Or I could go get Mrs. Smith. I'm sure she would be delighted to tell me what happened."

Shirley was serious. Whenever his sarcasm started to show, as with that comment about witnesses, the rotund, balding, bespectacled man began to hand out his most nasty punishments. Like trash pick-up. Or essays.

Izzy sighed and at un straight in her rigid wooden chair. Shirley wasn't really a bad guy. He was nice enough when you weren't in his office for something bad, which was rare for her, and had a fairly decent sense of humor and a way with sarcasm that inspired envy from many of it's receivers. It couldn't hurt to give him the impression that she cared.

"I suppose I was looking at her wrong, sir."

"Ah, yes, you looks do tend to bring out the best in your teachers, don't they, Richter?"

"It's a gift and a curse, sir. But I am glad to help Mrs. Smith vent her frustrations in anyway I can. It's not healthy for anyone to keep such feelings cooped un inside."

"Oh? And what feelings are these?"

"The usual. Disgust with my poor attitude, horror at my tone, shock and frustration over her ineffective teaching methods. Concern for my home life, she did ask about my mother."

"Concern. I'm sure it was concern that made be toss you out of her hair and down to us."

"Surely it was. She is a teacher."

Shirley's face twitched a bit at this. It looked like he was trying to repress a smile, but Izzy knew better than to get too hopeful.

"I, of course, answered her questions. It's rude to ignore someone when the ask you something. Even if they are trying to deafen you with their volume."

Shirley raised his brows and folded his hands under his pudgy chin. "And what, pray tell, forced her to this volume? Advanced cabinet making heard it in woodshop, by the way."

Izzy gave the principle her most winning grin. "The inspiring aura of my winning personality?"

Shirley grinned back. "I think not."

Izzy sighed. Not matter the sarcastic skills, Shirley was still a teacher. And teachers never entertained the idea that other teachers yelled and sent students to the office for failed dominance plays. "What's the verdict?"

Shirley got serious again. "Hmm, for you twentieth visit to my office this year? I don't know….Expulsion is starting to look nice, but I really don't want to do that to you, Richter. I really don't."

Izzy looked down. Great. The generally expected looked like it had now become inevitable. Wasn't this going to be fun when she got home? Doubtless her sister and mother would have a riot with this news. Isabelle was finally expelled, thus fulfilling all the expectations anyone had ever held for her. She could now die in peace.

Shuffling papers sounded again, and Shirley spoke. "I'm going to set up an appointment with your mother and myself, say seven tonight? I think that we need to start thinking about alternate programs. So, go home, and you'll get the verdict tonight after the meeting."

"Thank you, sir," Izzy said quietly. She even meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:Okay, so i kinda lied about the blue guy thing, but another familiar face appears, along with my second OC of the story. I don't own, yadda yadda...Tell me what you think, ya?

Twenty minutes later found Izzy on her way home, Tool screaming in her ears. "Who are you to wave your finger? Ya must've been out of your head…."

A semi blew by her drowning out the music momentarily. With a sigh, Izzy reached up to right her tousled head of hair, finger-combing it back into place.

Izzy wasn't a particularly impressive persona. Her hair was a bit shaggy, shoulder length, dyed black as opposed to her natural sandy blond. It had the tendency to stick up oddly when too short, forcing Izzy to keep her bangs at a slightly shorter length, just long enough to leave her chin and mouth perfectly visibly, but most of her face in shadow.* Her eyebrows and lashes were black, giving the casual observer no reason to suspect she had a different natural color. A ring of thin silver loops marched up the edge of her right ear, with a matching silver flash on her left eyebrow and at the corner of her mouth. Izzy really only had so many holes because it made her mom's eyes bug out. The ink, however, was all for her. The snake coiled into a figure eight on her arm, was her favorite, though the rampant dragon that reared across her back and right hip was the most impressive.

More comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt than anything else, Izzy wasn't a bad person. She just had a finely tuned sense of drama and a burning need to sharpen her tongue on any authority figures that were conveniently in her path.

Izzy sighed, skipping over her mother's carefully-Mexican-maintained flowers and whatnot, and unlocked the door and walked down the hall to her suburbian haven, otherwise known as her room.

*While studying for her SATs the year before, Izzy's sister Sariah had described her appearance as enigmatic. The word hadn't impressed Izzy much.

'Morality and Ethical Behavior Within the Mutant Crisis' by Risha Sadhana was proving to be a good read while Natalie waited for her cousin to show up to the meeting he had suggested at the Coffee Shop. Nat's most prized possession, her laptop, was cradled against her bent leg, resting in the place it's name denoted, a window open to the essay she was reading. Her left hand fiddled with the pencil that should have been doing her geometry homework, tapping a restless beat that sounding in time to most of the pulses that thudded through the room. Several other patrons were occupied similarly, glued to electronic screens, processing the caffeine the methodically ingested.

At least her cousin, James, hadn't been in jail, as she had first assumed he was when he had called her that morning. His drug habit had landed him in the lock-lock, several times over the years, and it was not unexpected for him to call one of him extensive family members to come bail him out. What was family for, after all?

The ringing of the bell above the door to signal a new customer made Natalie look up to see her cousin. James was skinny as always, but today he had a shifty, haunted look about him, that made Natalie immediately regret having gone to the Coffee Shop. He was after something.

As he stepped in from the rain and shook off like the dog he was, only to be quickly followed by an old man dressed in a trench coat and cap, pulled low over his eyes.

A sense of familiarity met the sight, but Nat, after a moment of thought and watching them approach her, dismissed it as cinematic déjà vu and shut her laptop.

Knowing it was best no to let James say anything, and guilt her into doing anything ridiculous, Natalie demanded of him and he sat in one of the plush chairs across from her, "What do you want?"

James looked at her, his dark eyes wide and hurt, his pupils making them seem black. "Nothing, jeez."

"You're high as a kite, James."

A soft chuckle made Natalie look over at the old man as he spoke. "Not as high as all that, Ms. Sims." His eyes, shadowed by the hat were a light blue, with some sort of burning emotion's embers glowing there. "Simply joyful."

Natalie swallow thickly, a chill running down her spine and breaking across her skin. Without taking her eyes from the old man, she said to her cousin, "It was good to see you James. Your mom might like it if you went to say 'hi' to her, too."

"Relax, Nat," he responded, his eyes flicking back and forth, like he couldn't quite manage looking at anything longer than a heartbeat or so.

"Sorry," Natalie murmured, even as she switched the 'off' button on her laptop. She began to pull the bag for it out from under her own plush chair as James continued.

"I was just going to ask for some help tonight."

"I have a test tomorrow."

"We need a look out."

Natalie stopped and lifted her head from where it had been bent over the laptop bag, securing all the various straps that would keep her baby safe. She looked at the old man, who looked back at her, with his ember eyes, smiling slightly, but spoke to James. "We?"

"Yeah, we're going to the clinic. It's time us mutants showed them what we really think of their 'cure'."

Natalie was silent. Her déjà vu senses were tingling like nothing else in the world as she looked at the old man…Why did he look so familiar?

"Sorry. I'm sure I'll see you around James." Natalie stood up, swinging her bag to her shoulder and zipping up her jacket in preparation for the rain that hadn't been coming down when she had come here. "Goodbye."

An insistent tug on her shoulder, from the bag, made the girl whip around, ready to tell someone to get their hands off, when she has both men were sitting as they had been, neither one of their hands anywhere near her computer.

"8:00, Miss Sims, should you change your mind, and realize what you owe your own kind."

Natalie said nothing for a moment. Metal. She could feel the old man. The slow thud of his heart, the rush of his blood through his veins….Oh, God.

"I assure you, Magneto, I don't owe my 'own kind' anything."

Natalie left the Coffee Shop, feeling a cold sense of anticipation and regret for what she had just said. Damn, but nothing good ever came from family.

Her mother hadn't yelled. Quite the contrary, Shannon Richter and been much too silent. Her blue eyes, just like Izzy's, had gone all flinty and dark, her fury just held beneath the surface.

"Go," was all she had said, after Izzy had spilled the story to her when she had returned home from work at five. Izzy had went, keeping her dry comments to herself, returning to her room and shutting to door to sit on her bed in silence for the next hour and a half.

At six thirty, her mother had knocked once, sharply, on her bedroom wall, to signal that it was time to go. Izzy had taken her headphones with her to discourage any talking, while on the drive over to the school, not that Izzy had expected there to be any. No her mother had on her grouchy-you-mees-my-life-up-why-can't-you-be-more-like-your-sister look on her face. Similarly, they had both refrained from speaking while her mother went into the office and left Izzy out in the hall.

Izzy tucked her knees up underneath her, squirming in the chair and looking about the office from the same seat she had been in while waiting to see the principal this morning. Needless too say, the main office looked vastly different when it lacked the flighty and kindly secretaries and gruff, rude and suspicious truant officers that glared at you from their hovering spots my the doors. It looked…empty. And less. Like without all the people it was just a room. Not a place that could end you life as you knew it.

A sudden feeling of depression hit Izzy as she sat, curled in the chair. What had happened to her? Her sister ignored her like she didn't exist, her mother was quickly coming to hate her. She hadn't even seen her father in eight months and her grades were crap, because of all the lip that she somehow managed to give all her teachers. And all the "friends" that she had, only spoke to her because they thought she could get them cheap drugs.

About the last thing, Izzy had the strong suspicion it was her tattoos that made all her classmates think her had connections. There was only one boy who did tats as a hobby at school, a boy called Ethan, who also happened to be the local weed king. Only the snake on her wrist was his work. She also hadn't spoken to him in the four months since she had gotten the snake.

The drug boy, and all the rumors surrounding the people around him, was what had gotten her landed in detention for the first time, when some prep senior and named her as the one who had sold him weed. Of course, that had believed him, but without any hard proof (Izzy herself had been clean) all they could do was send her to the guidance counselor to attempt to wring a teary, guilt-ridden confession from her, and detain her until the boredom made her want to claw out her own eyes.

"But enough with the sob story," Izzy said to herself and reached into her pocket to turn on her music and stop her brain from working over the sound of screeching instruments and crooning voices.

She had been listening for ten minutes when the Door Of Doom, just to her right opened and the cookie monster stepped out, followed by her tight-lipped mother.

While Fallout Boy lamented their misogynistic ballads in her ear, she stared at the pair and said "Oh, shit."


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, so this chapter was abit forced for me, so do tell me if it turned out okay.

Chapter Three

Nat's dreams were red. As they almost always were. But these one were disturbing. They were dark and joyful, and Natalie could all but feel the slow taste of thick warm liquid dripping down her throat. She laughed and it was a terrible sound, and her dream world was all the more red.

She woke up, her sweat cold against her burning skin, her heart pounding in her chest, the echoes of her families pulses ringing through her aching head. Her skin tingled as her mother, older sister and younger brother's blood rushed along her skin, the sensation tantalizing, almost seductive. All that beautiful blood would be out of it's containers, with just a thought, still warm as Nat ran her hands through the puddle.

"Yeowch!"

With that muted cry Nat tumbled from her twin bed, landing hard on all fours, her hands and knees smarting from the rug burns that were now there. She kneeled there for a long moment, breathing hard and waiting for the blood lust to dissipate.

As soon as she was able, she raised her head and looked at her alarm clock, on her bookcase across the room.

11:28.

Three and a half hours ago her newly "joyful" cousin and a psychopathic fanatic started doing something. That they had needed a look out for. Which meant it was bad. And probably illegal.

Something to do with the ever-controversial "cure."

Which, strangely enough, her cousin had been forced to take as a part of his treatment.

"Damn it!"

Lowering her head, Nat took a couple of slow and deep breaths, trying to stop her panic form taking over, as she ran over the event of their meeting in her head.

Her cousin's eyes had been dilated, to an unnatural level. Her cousin's mutation? Hypersenses.

The cure didn't work. Damn, damn, damn.

The news anchors had said six months ago, after Magneto's attack on Manhattan, had claimed that the so-called Brotherhood of Mutants was no longer a viable threat, for their leader, Erik Lensherr, a.k.a. Magneto, had been given the cure during the fighting. Sleep safe at night, kiddies, the big, scary mutant can no longer hurt you.

Now, wouldn't it be a novel idea if the cure had been permanent?

"Shit," Nat swore, fumbling to her feet to grab a discarded pair of jeans from the floor and hauling them on over her boxers and stumbling down the stairs and out the front door, after grabbing her boots, a jacket and the keys to the Dodge. No good ever came from family.

The clinic was on the outskirts of town, and had been a place of violent protest in the wake of revealing the cure. The only place that gave out the cure for three counties, it had been flooded with many in-the-closet mutants wanting to lead normal lives. In fact, it was only Nat's belief in Nature, that had kept her from it herself. That and the fact that, as a minor, she would have needed her parents permission to get it, and they were unaware of what she was.

It only took Nat twenty minutes to reach it, taking the back way to avoid any police. Killing the engine Nat sat in the truck, looking at the clinic.

It was a relatively small building, with a glossy lawn and shiny paths enclosed by a six-foot chain link fence that was guarded by a security hut, whose lights spread across the street. There was no-one in sight. The streets were silent.

After taking a deep breath, Nat hopped out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind her. Nothing moved.

She walked quickly towards the security hut, tugging the hood of her jacket up and zipping it as she went, constantly swinging her head around, on the lookout for anyone. She could feel no pulses on the street, but felt the feint echo of several, coming from the building. The smell of blood was almost nauseating.

Reaching the security hut, Nat used her hands the cover the sides of her face and looked in. There was a man in there, middle-aged, black, with half of his head missing. His blood was heavy in her nose, a seductive perfume.

"Damn," she whispered, lowering one hand to her stomach as it started to roll.

Looking around again, she opened the door to the hut and slipped inside quickly.

The hut was composed of a counter, upon which several blank monitors sat, a chair, upon which the dead man sat, and a shelf upon which keys should have been sitting. Also, there was a cabinet under the desk, it's door ajar.

Carefully stepping around the man, Nat kneeled in front the cabinet and opened it all the way. Inside was a stash of batteries, long, metal flashlights, handheld radios, and what looked like modified plastic air-soft guns, and cartridges. Cure guns.

Nat grabbed a flash light, flicking it on to test the batteries. It shone bright in the darkness under the desk, but she grabbed a handful of batteries and stuffed them in one of her pant's pockets, just in case. She then picked up a radio and fiddled with the knobs until she heard "East corridor, midnight, all clear." She paused when it came to one of the guns. Staring at them, thinking about what she would have to do with them if push came to shove, Nat ran one finger over them delicately. It would be so easy for her to just shoot herself with one now and walk away, pretend she knew nothing about this. But she would have to pray the rest of her life that nothing happened to put her prints in the system, for fear of getting this murder, and probably several other's by now, pinned on her.

She shook her head and stuffed a gun in her jacket pocket and jumped to her feet. Resolutely she turned toward the door at the back of the hut and went out through it. The glossy lawn was wet with the earlier rain, making Nat grateful for her hiking boots. A quick jog brought her to the main entrance of the dark clinic. Testing the door, she found it open and slipped inside, ducking down in the shadows to her left. The linoleum floors were reflective of the scat lights that managed to reach the building from the security hut. It smelled…clean. And bloody.

Crawling along the floor, following the smell, Nat's hand encountered and showed in the darkness, that light not reaching this far back. Keeping her hand on the shoe, Nat, reached for the flashlight tucked in her belt, and flicked it on. Moving the light over another body, this one an elderly white man, Nat sighed and concentrated.

Small and feint, was a slow steady _thump,_ of his pulse, whispering through her head. He was alive, OK.

Nat took a deep breath concentrating further, searching for more heartbeats. In front of her and to her right, several rooms away, was two heartbeats, both strikingly familiar.

Nat flicked the flashlight on and off a few more times, in order to maneuver around the second body, and went on her way again, crouched low to the ground, heading towards James and Magneto.

"There are intruders in Exam Room Three, back-up immediately!"

The radio at her side went off loudly, echoing in the silent hallway. Nat cursed, and stood up straight, tracing the wall at her right with left with one hand and running towards the heartbeats. There was going to be another man dead if She didn't get there and soon.

The doors began to shake as Nat rounded the corner, yelling reaching her ears.

"--on the ground NOW, both of you!"

"Do you have any idea who you are dealing with, man?"

Magneto stood somewhere out of sight, but the metal doors continued to shake, his doing, Nat knew. James stood at one end of the hallway, the security guards light shining on his face. He had his own gun, held lightly behind his back, and he glared at the security guard. The security guard stood with his feet apart in a typical shooting stance, hands in front of him, holding a cure gun and a flashlight, both trained on James.

"You have no chance of defeating Homo Superior, human," James said.

"Get on the ground!"

Nat's world seemed to slow as she watched. The security guard continued to yell, and James simply smirked and began to move him arm out, the one that the security couldn't see held a gun, but Nat could. There was a thundering crash as something in the room behind James, what she assumed was Exam Room Three, and a shadowy figure appeared in the darkness that led into it. Slowly the figure extended and arm as James swung his hand out and up the gun now visible to all.

The security guard was still yelling even as he fired. Several small darts planted themselves in James' shoulder and Nat felt more than heard herself screaming "NO!"

She lurched forward throwing up an arm as her world went red and her head exploded.

*!*

Izzy was riding in a car with the Cookie Monster.

"_There is no need for you to return. I'll send your things."_

The Cookie Monster kept giving her sideways looks, a quite annoying habit. But as Izzy sat in the passenger seat, she could understand why he might be concerned. Her shoulders slumped, her head was bowed and she stared blankly at her lap, her mother's last word's to her ringing through her mind.

"_Just like your father. There is no need for you to return. I'll send you things."_

"I'm very sorry, that this is how it all worked out, Isabelle." The Cookie Monster, otherwise known as Dr. Henry McCoy, a former presidential cabinet member, finally broached the silence that they had been riding in for the last two hours.

"It's Izzy."

"Had I been aware that your mother was unaware of your status as a mutant, I would have approached the situation differently."

Shannon Richter had said nothing to her youngest daughter beyond those last three sentences that shattered everything that Izzy had managed to hold together for the last year. She now had nothing in the way of family, or home. She had just been expelled from school and was now being shipped off to some mutant freak school halfway across the country.

"How can you approach blind hatred differently, I do wonder," Izzy said acidly, expressing the anger the brimmed just beneath the melancholy. Izzy could tell from her emotions that she was quickly coming to blame Dr. McCoy for her current situation, even though her good sense told her she had no one to blame but herself.

"I would imagine you might approach it through subtlety. Perhaps Deception."

"Yeah," Izzy scoffed, looking McCoy up and down. "Subtlety."

McCoy was quiet for a moment. Izzy got the feeling she had struck a nerve. She felt vaguely sorry for it, but that feeling was hard to find underneath the seething gladness that she might have hurt him. But after the previous silence relapsed, Izzy felt guilty begin to bubble up. Besides, awkward silences did not suit her rapier wit at all.

"So, what is this school of your like, Dr. McCoy?"

"It's very…ideal."

"And just think of all the sins that have been committed in the name of ideals."

Apparently Izzy's tongue wasn't suffering much from her guilt. McCoy winced and Izzy let the silence return, again. Wasn't this just going to be a nice nine hour drive?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry, this is a little short, and incomplete. Hopefully there will be more Izzy in the next chapter, maybe a new OC that would be dealing with the Scott part of my story. I need to get him in there sometime, he is part of my plot.

There will also be Angsty Nat coming up, or at east a more angsty Nat. And Izzy prolly will get really into herself as soon as she get's to the mansion in a couple of days (story wise). If anyone is wondering what Izzy's gift it is, I'll give you all a clue: marble. Magnira was wondering as well, but that is all I'm telling you. MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

And as soon as Magneto wakes up, Nat's fun will truly begin....

(PM me if you really wanna know) I don't own, ect. Rating in mostly for swearing and content, I might say.

PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OR I WILL NO LONGER POST CHAPTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Izzy was snoozing lightly when the car shuddered to a stop. Blinking she sat up straight and looked out the windows. Thick coniferous woods enclosed a small grassy area, and several concrete buildings. The Rest area was only inhabited by several RVs that were silent in the predawn glow.

"I need to make some calls. Feel free to get out and stretch your legs a bit."

McCoy seemed to dismiss Izzy then, reaching his large hands into his suit jacket and searching for something. Izzy assumed it was a cell phone as she swung the door open and slipped out. She didn't need to be offered the chance to escape the awkwardness of her travel more than once.

The chill made Izzy glad for her jacket, and walking towards the little buildings that Izzy assumed were bathrooms, Izzy was also glad for her sneakers. The grass was wet. The bathrooms were standard issue rest stop. Concrete and rarely cleaned. The floor was wet with Izzy didn't know what, and little balls of mushy and dry toilet paper had been stuck to the ceiling, making it look like that bathroom had cut it's self shaving. Maneuvering her way into a stall Izzy touched as little as possible and stared at what greeted her.

Without another thought, Izzy turned around and went to the next stall, trying to repress her gag reflex. The second stall had been victim to some persons grudge against toilet paper. They had stripped the whole roll and dumped it in the toilet bowl, leaving behind a soggy, off-white mess that Izzy really didn't want to ponder.

Shaking her head Izzy peered around the stall divider into the next and final stall. Some unknown traveler had apparently felt the need to take a souvenir from this impressive establishment. Perhaps the experience of relieving their bowels had been so momentous that they had felt it needed a little something to immortalize it, and leave a lasting impression on future patrons. The lack of a toilet seat left all the glorious waste stains for all to see.

Noticing that this was her safest choice, Izzy entered the stall and used her coat sleeve to shut and lock the door. For a long moment she just looked at the toilet, trying to engineer a way to relieve herself without touching anything.

Maybe if she climbed up onto the toilet it's self, and braced a leg on the toilet paper holding thing?

Perhaps…squatting?

*!*

Nat's head throbbed in the silence as her eye slowly opened. She was stiff on the linoleum floor of the clinic, mouth open, lying in a small pool of her own drool.

"Unh," Nat grunted as she quickly sat up and looked around, wiping the drool from her right cheek. Her head swirled, and Nat moved her hand from her cheek to her scalp to search for the cause of pain. On the right side of her head, a couple of inches above her ear was a tender lump the size of an egg, presumably from the fall. God, why was the silence so loud?

Silence! Nat whipped her head t the side and swallowed at the sight of the three bodies that were covered in the cold metallic scent of old blood.

James….that security guard…Mag--

No, that wasn't quite right. Nat looked hard at the body that lay halfway in the door way, difficult to see in the dim light. He was still alive, his blood a sluggish rush along her skin.

"Shit, oh, shit." One hand at her temple, one hand on the ground, Nat crawled the last ten feet to the fallen man and stared down at him. Three vertical slashes across his chest were no longer bleeding, the dried blood dark in the pale moonlight that shone through the window in the back of the room. His face was still, but his pulse was steady. Judging from the amount of blood on the ground, the man should probably be dead, like the security guard and her cousin. Nat bit back a sob, stifling it with her hands. God. James was dead. She had killed her own cousin. Her own blood.

No she could think about that later. It was early in the morning and there were only two people alive in the medical clinic famed for it dispensing of the mutant-x gene cure. One was a former mutant terrorist, the other, herself, a closeted mutant with perhaps one of the most dangerous "gifts" around.

On the bright side, the only two people who seemed to know she was a mutant were either dead now, or seriously injured. By her own hand.

"Shit," Nat scraped a hand through her hair, frantically thinking, trying to come up with a plan of action. It was still dark outside, none knew yet what had happened tonight. She had a truck. She had a cure gun, if it came down to it. Mutant attack, what mutant attack, I don't know anything about that officer, I'm not a mutant…But her prints were all over the gat hut….but they didn't have any reason to suspect her. Except when she showed up at breakfast in a few hours with a concussion and blood under her fingernails…Shit. Nat looked down at the bloody old man in front of her and knew she could never do it. He had killed many, but was Nat really willing to make it three lives that she was responsible for taking?

_Third time's the charm…_

No, Nat wouldn't leave Magneto here to die, if only to spare her own conscience. Murder was wrong, and she had almost murdered him. It was her duty to do all she could to stop that. Damn.

Nat looked around the room, Exam Room Three. There was some busted cabinets, and all furniture that wasn't attached to the floor looked like the walls had played volleyball with it. Shattered vials littered the floor, making Nat leery of walking through the room, but first things first. Mr. Magneto needed some medical attention. Though Nat knew her Red Cross card proved there was very little she might be able to do for him with it, she needed to try before attempting to drag him out to the Dodge.

Thirty minutes later Nat was roaming the streets outside the clinic, armed with a screw driver, the Dodge's license plates and a heavy sense that she time to escape this mess was running out. Finally she came to a small white car that looked like it might be a likely prospect. Kneeling down at the bumpers Nat was like singing when she saw that the screws were the right size for the screw driver.

Nat made quick work of switching the plates. Hopping into the Dodge, she turned it on and backed it carefully to the edged of the road, the passenger side of the hut, where the bandages and still unconscious Magneto lay. Nat glance at the stereo clock. 2:43. She had maybe two hours until the clinic was discovered. Enough time to get home. If only it were to stay. She couldn't bring the elderly man home, and hope everything would be all hunky dory, though it the back of her min, Nat hoped that she might. But no, she didn't need to bring all of her family into this. While her role in this might be a little opaque, Magneto would be identified in no time. SO that left her to her plan that she was now following, as she drug Magneto out of the hut and managed to hoist his dead weight body into the passenger side of the cab. She was in a sweat when she climbed in herself.

The short drive back to her home was agonizing. She slipped inside and went slowly up to her room, and packed her bags as quietly as she could. Her backpack full of her school stuff. Her laptop bag, a luggage suitcase stuffed full of clothes, her own, and some of her father's clothes, from the storage closet in the hall. With several careful trips, she packed them downstairs and out to the Dodge.

Before heading back for her last two tasks, Nat check on Magneto. He was still out. He seemed less than he had been at the diner, almost pathetic, really, with his sunken cheeks and bloody, skinny body, all covered in bandages.

Nat scoffed darkly at the thought and went back to her house. She filled two reusable shopping bags full of food from the pantry and grabbed some disposable flatware ad dishes to fill a third. The cookie jar shaped like a monkey was her last stop. Reaching in she withdrew a wad of cash, rolled and secured in it's wad by a rubber band.

There was about a thousand dollars, roughly, saved for an emergency by her mother. Knowing that this…mess…crisis…thing was only her own emergency, not her family's Nat knew that this was the blackest sin to top her growing list. Swearing that she would repay it, Nat stuffed in in one of the shopping bags and left her home, to go and give penance for her sins against a devil. But a sin was a sin.

She kept the bags in the cab with her and started the Dodge.

_A person's a person, no matter how small…_

The thought popped into Nat's head as she drove away, surprising a laugh out of her. Now Dr. Seuss was giving her ethics lessons, via socially awkward fictional elephants. Fabulous.

Smiling despite herself, Nat looked around at her surroundings. The familiar sights that greeted her only served to make her farewell more wrenching. She was a killer. Of her own family. Perhaps her mutation had finally gotten out of control and was to blame. Or perhaps, it was her own desire to be rid of it that had caused this.

The cure gun was still in her pocket.

One look at Magneto and her handiwork stopped that thought in it's tracks.

She could take the cure after she got rid of this problem. She could fix her guilt when she fixed this man, and had time to ponder her other sins more deeply.

Making a mental list of them, her sins, Nat turned her attention to the road and drove.

*!*

"Did you have some issues?"

Izzy stalked by McCoy and opened to car door, a distinctly unhappy look on her face. "I don't wanna talk about it," she replied tersely, her soggy pants leg sloshing and squelching as she climbed back into the car and slammed the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: YAY! Four whole reviews, i feel like dancing! wOOt!! that averages out to .75 reviews per chapter!

Anyway, this one took me FOREVER to actually start, as Izzy and Hank were a bit bogged down in conversation. I have Magnira to thank for getting my mind un-bogged with her talk of code names. I'm sorry i didn't get to lay out Izzy's gift plain as day here. I'l give you another hint though: skin. The Nat in this chapter wasn't really flowing for me, so please tell me if she sounds a biy OOC.

IN the next chapter Izzy should be at the mansion, and should begin meeting all the teachers and students there, and Nat should be headed in that direction. I need to get on top of Scott though (no sexual implication meant here), and work on that part of the plot. Maybe I'll have the next part out in a week or so? who knows.

I don't own, yadda yadda, Nat and Izzy are mine, yadda yadda...

Chapter Five

The silence was becoming unbearable. Neither Izzy or McCoy said anything at all, which made Izzy's guilt start going haywire, making her feel as though she should break the silence, maybe even apologize for her earlier mean-ness.

Silence.

She felt bad, she truly did for her earlier remarks about McCoy's "subtlety," or lack thereof. After all, Izzy hadn't been mouthing off just to be her normal cheeky self, she'd done it purely out of spite. She'd done it be mean, just for the sake of meanness. Now Izzy felt…petty.

Silence.

And then there was the silence it's self. It was just so awkward, the lack of sound making her ears crawl with static and her head start to pound with the sounds of her own body.

Silence.

God, if someone didn't say something soon, Izzy was going to take that ball-point pen in McCoy's pocket and use it one her own eyes. At least her shrieks of pain would be awkward.

Silence.

Izzy found herself turning to look at McCoy, to eye his pocket thoughtfully. After a long while Izzy noticed the good doctor began to notice her stare, with him flicking his blue eyes to her every few seconds.

Silence.

Izzy jerked her eyes up from chest level and caught the doctor in once of his flicky-glances. He blinked and quickly looked ahead, seemingly embarrassed to be caught at it.

_Silence. _

The dam broke.

"So," Izzy announced loudly, stretching her legs out in front of her and making a grand show of peering out the windshield and passenger window. "Mutant school, huh? I don't suppose you refrain from giving homework, seeing as school and home are the same place, and all?" Izzy flashed him her most charmingly inquiring look.

McCoy glanced at her, a full one not a flicky one. "I must disappoint you, then, Isabelle. We do give out homework."

Izzy heaved a dramatic sigh, happy that he was talking to her, and being nice about it, to boot. "The very bane of my existence, I swear. What's it like there?" Izzy frowned, thinking back. "I think I remember something on the news about it a while back…"

"It's a one of a kind institution." McCoy smile faintly. "Not as many students as we've had in the past, only about 300. Most of them are about twelve to fifteen when they first come to us, a lot of them runaways, or facing some difficulty due to their mutations. We've got six full time teachers and several of the older students help out some."

"Only six? I would think you'd need more keepers than that for a place like yours."

"Ah, but the keepers are as dangerous as the ones they are keeping, Isabelle," McCoy turned his cookie monster body fully towards her, grinning to flash a set of exaggerated canines. Cookie Monster on steroids, after graduating assassin school.

Izzy grinned right back. "What sort of stuff should I prepare my self for, then, Cookie Monster?"

McCoy lifted one blue brow. "Cookie Monster? I believe a better term for it may be 'Beast,' Isabelle."

"Beast?" Izzy cocked her own brow at McCoy. "What, is that your special little name for yourself? Aren't we a little pretentious now."

"Pretentious. A big word. How impressive." McCoy turned towards the road, and for a moment Izzy had thought she'd hurt his feelings again. " 'Beast' is my codename," he said turning away from her. "And more a beast than you would guess, Isabelle." He snorted, then, his upper lip curling in derision. "Cookie Monster…"

"Call me Izzy and I'll call you anything you please, Cookie Monster." A thought occurred to Izzy. "Please don't tell me all of you at this school of yours have little names for themselves, too."

McCoy laughed at the disgust in her voice. "The only ones who really need them are a part of the official team, but most of the students have their own little alias's that they choose to adopt from time to time." He paused. "Izzy."

"Team?" Then it hit her. The media. Damn, she was going to _that _school. "Great. Won't that be enjoyable?"

"Don't worry, it's not required for you to become an X-man upon graduating." McCoy chuckled slightly, thinking about what Izzy Richter's reaction would be to powers class, where she would have to train with other students her age as a team during simulations. Logan was just going to love her, especially her mouth.

"What's so funny, _Beast_?"

"Nothing at all, my dear _Izzy._"

The car fell into silence again, this one thankfully lacking an "awkwardness" component.

"You never did say what your mutation was, Izzy."

Izzy looked down. Her mutation. The true bane of her existence. The cause of her loner, drug-dealing, dangerous-partying reputation. The reason for her estrangement from her family, the reason for her slipping grades and bad rep with teachers and authority figures in general. The reason she didn't have any friends. Anything to keep anyone from touching her and finding out. "Eh," she said forcing herself to shrug and wave a hand carelessly at McCoy-call-me-Beast. "It's nothing so special. Not even worth mentioning."

Hank might have pressed for more information, but his exit came up and he had to focus and getting over. "Only about an hour now."

"Good," Izzy replied. "You've spared me from having to ask 'Are we there yet?' "

*!*

It had taken Nat a while to decide her direction. East wouldn't have been much help, there wasn't that much country for her to cross that way. South was counted out for the same reasons, plus Nat had family down that way. It would be too great a risk to run into them, especially as she had stolen a car and a grand in cash from her mother. Somehow Nat doubted any of her aunts, uncles, or cousins would be much obliged to not call her mother to report her whereabouts, if not call the police. West had some potential….but did she really want to spend all that time driving through a desert with a psychotic, fanatical mutant?

But north…lots of people might discourage Mr. Lensherr from any displays of overly excited fanaticism, and she didn't now anyone that lived in the path she would be taking. Plus, there was bound to plenty of large cities she could dump her injured responsibility in, once he recovered enough to function on his own. Or once he at least opened his eyes.

So north it had been, and the sun had risen nearly three hours past now, and the old man still had not opened his eyes. The bastard.

Nat sighed heavily and dug in one of the bags to drag out a box of Pop Tarts. Those were always good. Her eyes were beginning to droop, the adrenaline from the clinic incident wearing off and leaving her tired and sore and too much thinking time.

They had probably found the bodies by now…Nat closed her eyes, sighing, trying to drive out the sudden barrage of bloody images that flashed there. God, but the smell wouldn't go away, no matter how much she closed her eyes, as the walking perfume factory of Magneto's open wounds sat not three feet away from her.

"It is probably not the wisest thing for one to close one's eyes while driving." Magneto's lilting, slightly mocking, if not a bit breathless, voice met her ears.

Nat jerked, the Dodge swerving slightly, and the box of Pop Tarts tumbled to the ground. "Fuck," Nat hissed. Luckily the roads were all but empty.

"Tsk, tsk… language, Miss Sims."

Nat didn't take her eyes off the road as she gripped the wheel tightly in both hands. Luckily the roads were all but empty. "Go to hell, Mr. Lensherr," Nat ground out, her jaw clenched. Now he was awake. The bastard.

Lensherr was silent for a moment then Nat hear the sound of sharp breathing and the rustle of clothing. The smell of fresh blood swelling to the surface of Magneto's wounds made her suck in a breath of air sharply then slowly release it.

"I…," Magneto paused, and Nat could all but feel his light blue eyes on her, she knew that his questioning look was almost palpable. "I have no doubt that I would be happily settling in hell right now, Miss Sims, were it not for your interference."

Nat said nothing for a moment, searching the green signs along the road for a Holiday Inn, or the like, someplace she could rest a bit and lay out a plan for what she would now have to do. When he began to move again she said, "You're going to start bleeding again, if you don't hold still."

He stilled. "That is your gift, isn't it? Blood. Hemokinesis."

"Pretty words for a pain in the ass, Mr. Lensherr."

Nat could see him out of the corner of her eye. He lifted and arm towards her and her paranoia shifted into full gear. She jerked her arms, pulling the Dodge sharply to the left towards to cement blocks in the middle of the road. Magneto hit the passenger side door with a _thunk_ and an "Arrrgh" of pain.

"There is some Aspirin in the glove box, Mr. Lensherr," Nat said sweetly.

He was silent after that. "You are above them all. You could easily take anything you ever wanted."

For a long moment Nat said nothing. She got the distinct feelings that his words were only half meant for her ears. "I could have easily done nothing," she said.

"Oh? And why didn't you?"

Nat spotted the sign she was looking for, and shifted none too smoothly into the turn lane in preparation to take her exit. "Because my mother taught me to take responsibility for my actions, Mr. Lensherr," she said quietly.

"And how about your cousin? What did your mother teach you about him?"

The implications were clear in the question and Nat didn't like them, not one bit. She didn't even think it over, as she yanked the wheel hard and slammed on the brakes. A minivan honked angrily as the Dodge screeched to a halt just in the inside of a overpass, the cab stopping in the shadow of the bridge. In the new darkness Nat turned very slowly towards Magneto and spoke slowly and softly.

"Let me lay something straight for you, Magneto. I may have been the one who opened James's flesh, but as far as I am concerned you are the one to blame for it. It is only because what I did to you is as much of a crime as what I did to James, and that security guard, that I even considered lifting one finger to help a fanatic like you. I am now obligated to take you to a place where you can return to your full health, to see that you reach it, but after that I assure the is nothing that is holding be back from marching you into the nearest police station and giving them your signed confession. And believe me Mr. Lensherr, I can make you march.

"Now, I would very much appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut until we get to our destination."

"Destination?" he queried softly.

"I'm hungry, Mr. Lensherr," Nat snapped glaring at the Pop Tarts box on the floor of the cab.

"And," she added softly, "your chest needs to be looked at again."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: So here is the next part. It was originally going to be much longer, but I decided to cut Izzy's part down, and put it into the next chapter, so most of this is Nat.

I promise Scott will be in the next chapter too.

I have also figure out that I really like depicting Magneto as a somewhat sinister guy...it's really fun. I'm trying not to make him Evil-evil, because he isn't in the movies, but the temptation is definitely there. I hinted in here what the major conflict of my story will be, but haven't said much, and hopefully Nat will be arriving soon, as well.

I'm kinda leery as to how to go about Scott's bit. I'm thinking of having him bring a new student to the mansion, but then again, I don't really wanna do that. The temptation is also there to make him gay. I'm trying to resist that, as well. Hopefully he'll be much more relaxed, and our fearless leader will be a little bit more human when he makes it back to all his friends.

Because I didn't put a lot of Izzy in, you still don't know what her power is, unless you've guessed it....I don't have another hint for you though. I'll get to it soon, I promise.

I don't own, yadda yadda, any liberties i've taken are my own, i swear upon thy most holy book, i do not make money from this...

A lot of familiar faces will be showing up soon, so watch out!

PS: If you've read it this stinkin' far, just take a moment and REVIEW people!

Chapter Six

Nat had gotten a room on the ground floor of the motel. It was very neutral, as motels tended to be, decorated in a brownish pink and tan, with two full beds, a small desk and chair, a television and stand, an one window facing the parking lot, from which she had a clear view of the Dodge. Juxtapose to the entrance was a door that led to a bathroom, and opposite that a small kitchenette area, sporting a mini fridge, microwave and sink.

Nat had brought in the bag of clothes, her laptop, the bag of cutlery, and then she figured she might as well bring them all in. She piled all the bags on one bed and tossed the food in the kitchenette. Magneto had managed to make his way to the room from the Dodge without her help. However, it left him pale and sweating, a decidedly pained grimace on his face.

Nat observed to old man for a moment, trying to decide if she could trust him enough to sleep. She shook her head when he took a step towards the bed that lacked the bags and hissed out a breath. His pulse was racing through Nat's head, like the bass beat of some punk rock song. "Bathroom," the girl said, pointing the way with one hand and motioning him forward with another.

Nat was almost surprised when he went. Rustling through the bags for the first aid kit, she followed.

The bathroom was white, with a tub shielded from view with a cheap plastic shower curtain, a fairly standard toilet, and a short counter that was taken up mostly by a sink. It was a square room, rather large as far as the average bathroom went, but it felt drastically smaller with the two people in it.

Aware of this fact, Nat motioned for Magneto to sit on the toilet. "Take your shirt off," she ordered flatly as she sat the first aid kit on the counter and opened it. It was a large first aid kit, more like a tackle box that a very passionate fisher might possess. Filled with everything but operation equipment, Nat rustled through it's contents while waiting for the man to disrobe.

Magneto was still wearing what he had worn the previous evening, at the Coffee House, minus the coat and hat. A dark and heavy sweater over dark grey slacks and worn, but nice loafers. Nat had to admit, for a fanatic and a terrorist, old Magneto did dress nicely. It took the old man a while to manage to peel the sweater and undershirt he wore off, but when he did managed it, Nat had to suppress her wince, as a whole new wave of guilt swept over her.

Wordlessly Nat scooted over until she stood at his side, her face set in a dark, but blank expression. Taking his sweater and shirt away from him, she draped them over the far edge of the counter. She peeled away the tape that secured the bandages over his wounds sharply, doing little to lessen the pain of it, then peeled the padding away to peer at his chest beneath.

Magneto wasn't a small man. By what she could tell, he was close to six feet, but with a build that somehow managed to be slim and athletic, even in his old age. He was still muscular, in an old man way, the strength of his youth slowly fading into softness as age took it's toll. He wasn't very hairy, either, just a smattering of white that trailed down to his belly. Slashing across it all were three angry cuts.

Nat could see that they were beginning to scab over, but had bled some into the bandages. Nat stared at the red on the white and tried to tell herself to breath calmly as she became rather uncomfortably aware of the smell of the blood, a heady thing, and the rush of it along her skin.

"Should I be worried, Miss Sims?"

Nat jerked upright, and brought the rest of the tape off with her. Magneto grunted, muscles flexing as his body twitched. Sitting on the toilet, Magneto was only a few inches shorter than herself. Nat met his eyes and smiled sweetly, "Not at all, Mr. Lensherr."

"Well, then," he said as Nat dug into the kit, looking for the antiseptic cream, "should I be letting some teenage girl attend my wounds?"

Nat had almost feared he would refer to them as battle wounds. "I have my Red Cross card," she informed him icily, smearing the cream on the cuts, as gently as she bothered to do so. She inspected the skin outside the wounds carefully, looking for any red streaks or discoloration, sure signs of infection. She found none as she went about her work.

"How impressive."

Nat didn't bother replying. She washed her hands off briefly, and fished out her next supplies out of the kit. Tape, gauze and cotton padding came out, and were lined up along the counter nearest the toilet.

"Isn't it slightly suspicious for you to be in a motel, with a man, in the middle of the day?"

Nat ignored his implications, taking care to poke at his wounds through the cotton as she measured out the needed amounts. He winced and she was glad. "As far as anyone is concerned, you are my grandfather and we are going to the circus, Mr. Lensherr."

His slightly breathy "Indeed?" was satisfying.

Nat taped the new bandages on and picked up the old ones. She crumpled them into a tight ball and dropped them into the small trash can under the sink. She tossed all the supplies back in the kit, snapped it shut and left the old man to get his clothing back on.

When he emerged several moments later it was to find Nat flipping through the channels from a perch on the bed filled with various bags. She pointedly ignored him as he went to the desk and took a seat in the swiveling chair. After a minute or so of searching, Nat found a news channel that was suitable and turned the volume down. It was loud enough to be heard clearly, but quiet enough for anything the they had to say to be audible to both parties.

Placing the remote on the edge of the bed, Nat turned to face Magneto. "Where would you like me to take you?"

Magneto laughed softly and reclined back in the chair. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

Nat was disinclined to answer. She stared at the old man flatly, waiting for him to answer.

Instead of speaking right away Magneto stared at Nat right back. His eyes pensive and his mouth set. "You are not in the least bit curious as to why I was at that cure clinic?"

"I'm afraid your acts of terrorism don't hold that much interest for me, Mr. Lensherr."

Magneto tilted his head to the side, watching Nat closely. She could feel a chill shudder down her spine as she caught sight of the gleam in his eyes.

"You should be. Interested, that is. Very Interested."

Nat realized then, something that hadn't quite dawned on her at the Coffee House. The chills. Her unease around him. She was scared. Nat swallowed and said nothing.

The sense of dread that overtook her when Magneto's mouth curved into a small, mocking smile compared to nothing she had ever felt before.

"That gun in your pocket--"

Nat froze, hardly daring to breath.

"-- is nothing compared to what they've just created."

_They. _He spoke like a true fanatic, grouping his enemies together with a communal title, not bothering to differentiate between them. It was him and them. Much too black and white to ever be considered sane.

Nat unfroze and her fear seemed to evaporate like a drop of water on a hot sidewalk. You could never really discern when it disappeared, but all you knew what that one minute it was there, but when you looked again it was gone.

The tension drained form her body, her breathing coming easier once again. She glared at Magneto, not trying to hide her dislike for the man, letting all of her emotions show. Her disdain, her knowledge, her rage.

"Your charisma is showing, Mr. Lensherr."

"You do have a quaint way with words, Miss Sims."

"Where am I taking you?"

The two stared at each other not speaking, a battle of eyes, neither one willing to look away first.

Without breaking contact Magneto said, "New York, I should think. Westchester."

*!*

This school was a sprawling place. The buildings were all haughty brick, artfully covered in ivy, the lawn a deep rolling green. The plaque on the gate they had passed on the way in had read "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Izzy had snorted at this. The people here were "gifted" all right. Izzy stepped out of the car, looking around the rather expansive garage and taking note of the pricy toys that were stashed there. She let out a low whistle and said "Someone has come very deep pockets."

McCoy stepped out the car and shut the door, his own gaze flickering over the various vehicles arrayed in the garage. "I suppose one might say that."

McCoy made his way down the row of fancy cars towards the door at the far end of the garage, waving Izzy along behind him. The door led to a richly furbished hall and staircase, all Persian-ish carpets and dark, shining wood. There were several doors in the hall. Pointing to one, McCoy said, "That leads to the basement levels. You'll se what's down there in a couple days."

Izzy nodded and followed him up the stairs, thinking again of very deep pockets. After two flights of fifteen stairs each (Izzy counted), they arrived at another hall, this one long and wide, littered with what looked like small expensive in-tables that sported vases, statues or flower arrangements.

"This is the main floor," McCoy said as they walked along. "Not really much here, besides the Professor's office." McCoy gestured to the wide staircase they walked by. "That leads upstairs to the second floor, where most of the classrooms are, and some student rooms are. You'll eventually meet everyone, but the professor likes to talk to all the new students."

"Professor?"

"Charles Xavier. He runs this place."

"So I get to meet the boss man?"

McCoy grinned at her and stopped walking, to turn to a door and knock on it.

"Come in!" a man's voice called from inside.

"Oh, goody," Izzy said and waked in after McCoy.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Thou wicked and spiteful writers block you shall not defeat me! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!

Hokay, so, this chapter was complete crap for me to try and write and I was sitting in my chair thinking "Damn it all, why can't I write this?" And then prest-o-change-o I wrote it. =)

=)=)=) Happiness time three!

So, the long awaited Scott shows up, along with a half daozen or so familiars, so please tell me how I got them. Izzy, again, I'm sorry, I didn't give you much on her at all. I gave you abit more on Nat, only because she is so deep inside her own head, it's hard to not give you something from only a page of writing. I abandoned my efforts to write a welcoming speech for the professor, so he doesn't get to say much, sorry, more about him later. I would really like some input on what anyone thinks about my Magneto. *_*

I don't own, we all know the drill...

I AM THE MOST HOLY RULER OF THE WORLD, I HAVE TRIUMPHED OVER WRITERS BLOCK AND NOW COMMAND YOU ALL TO REVIEW!

Chapter Seven

The Professor's office was much the same as the hall had been. Shiny wood, quaint tables, lots of flowers. The far wall was lined with windows, streaming mid morning sunlight into the room. A desk sat in front of that wall, and two wooden chairs in front of that, with a chalkboard pushing into far corner to Izzy's right and several other random pierces of furniture tucked her and there. All together it was very scholar-y, in a homey sort of way.

McCoy was greeting an older bald man who was seated behind the desk. Izzy stopped a polite distance away and waited for the men to finish up their talk.

"Good morning, Charles."

"Henry. You're back so soon?"

Izzy could feel McCoy glance over his shoulder, but pretended not to notice. She continued gazing intently at nothing.

"Yes. We drove straight through the night."

"You must be tired then."

"Hmm." This time when McCoy looked over his shoulder at her, Izzy looked back. "This is Izzy Richter."

The old man gazed at Izzy. On any other man Izzy would have called it 'looked' but this professor guy seemed like one for gazing. However, his gazing-thing was getting a little weird. He was staring at her, face unreadable, his eyes intense but somehow searching.

At last he smiled slightly and McCoy nodded.

"I think that I am going to bed for a while. I am simply beat. I'll see you both later." McCoy smile encouragingly at Izzy on his way out. Liar, Izzy thought and arched a brow at him as she watched him go, thinking it was almost like a rat on a sinking ship. He hadn't been the least bit tired in the car.

The sound of the shutting door was almost comically dramatic. Izzy might have laughed had it not been she that was still stuck in the room. Instead, she dug her hands into her pockets and turned around to look at the man expectantly. He didn't disappoint.

"Why don't you have a seat, Izzy?"

"Why don't I?" she responded and slunk over to one of the chairs in front of the desk to sit down.

*!*

His brain felt like someone had replaced it with a good amount of goose down. It throbbed, in in a securely cushioned way. He was sure he had some sort of drug to thank for that. Slow thuds and piercing beeps seemed to echo about in his downy head, sending his body rolling. He tried to move his arm, but found that he lacked the strength. He tried to open his eyes, but found them immovable. He tried to speak, and found the tubes choking him.

A trio of young female voices sounded then, as He floundered, trying to draw air into his lungs.

"He is waking," announced one.

"He is choking," a second corrected.

"He must not open his eyes," said a third. "The ceiling is real marble."

"We must tell Miss Frost," the first voice answered. "Miss Frost will be pleased he is waking."

"Miss Frost lusts after him something awful."

"We will die if he opens his eyes."

"Miss Frost is overjoyed the man is waking," the first voice seemed to bee to most dominant. "She is on her way now."

"His eyes are opening."

His movement had upset whatever was securing his eyes closed. The flew open and the ceiling was real marble. Pure white threaded with streams of black. The rest of the room was also very white. The ceiling didn't move.

God…

It was _white._

It was so beautiful.

But he was still choking, the tubes not allowing him to breath on his own, and his panic at this restriction and the shock of the whiteness all around him was overwhelming. He felt it wash over him like a wave of water gliding over the sand, soaking upon contact, not presuming to ask permission to sweep over.

God. He could see.

"Miss Frost is almost here."

"She is excited."

"He is crying."

"How weak."

"Miss Frost doesn't cry."

"Miss Frost is here."

A face invaded his vision. It was beautiful in a glacial way, all smooth, pale lines, haughty blue eyes, silky white blond hair, and quite a bit of skin that seemed to melt in with the rest of the room.

The face spoke. It said, "I'm glad you are awake, darling. I was beginning to worry that that wretched woman had done something harmful to you."

*!*

"Scott!"

With that cry, the Professor, a man Izzy had know for all of ten minutes now, tumbled from his seat.

Huh. They may insist on silly names, Izzy thought. But at least they are original in action.

The professor had been in the process of telling her about the teaching staff, all the while regarding her with that searching look. Izzy had fixed a mildly interested expression on her face, keeping her comments on all the codenames to nothing more than a raised brow or two.

Something about the old man made Izzy unsure about him, about what sort of things she might say to him. Plus she didn't know what his mutation was. He could be some sort of telepath that was reading her thoughts before she even thought them.

Izzy got to her feet to peer over the desk. The Professor guy lay in a crumply heap of unconscious old man. She stared at him for a long minute. He didn't move.

Great, Izzy thought, and flopped back down in her chair. I somehow killed the old guy.

She turned in the chair when the door behind her banged open and a small flood of people entered. Well, only three people came in, but they had the intensity of a small, but fierce natural disaster.

It was a black woman accompanied by two white men The woman had spunkily cut white hair, and concerned eyes as she rushed around the desk to the crumpled old man. The two men were polar opposites. One was dark, stocky with a distinct look of something animal about him, and the other was taller, slim, with the sort of golden good looks that her mother and sister shared.

Izzy made up her mind not to like him.

The dark man rushed to the old man as well, while the golden one hung back.

As one, the dark man, the one who called himself Wolverine, and the woman, who could only be the Storm person, turned to look at Izzy. The dark man's face was angry, probably a default expression Izzy though, and the woman looked concerned.

"What happened?" the woman asked.

"Start talking, kid," the dark man growled, his voice almost theatrically ominous.

Concern gave Izzy a rash, but anger she could deal with.

The girl folded her arms over her chest and cocked a brow at the dark man, slouching subtly until she her body language just screamed "indolent." "How am I supposed to know?" she demanded. "He's _your_ old man."

The dark man was spared from having to reply with the entrance of two more men. McCoy was missing his suit jacket, but the rest of him was the same as a few minutes before, and the second man, was about as tall and the golden man, with reddish hair and playful eyes that also happened to be a little red.

"Someting happen, cher?" the red man asked of the woman the same time as McCoy asked "What is going on?"

Izzy could tell the dark man was going to say something, probably something about Izzy's attitude, which was always a favorite topic of discussion among teacher types, but was saved-- much to her relief-- by the old man.

"Scott," he gasped. "He's alive!"

*!*

Nat was glued to the television when Magneto emerged from the bath room, wearing an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, both having belonged to her father. The clothes looked preposterous compared to what he had been wearing before. But at least they lacked holes and didn't have any noticeable blood stains on them.

"-- believe that this was a terrorist attack led by anti-mutant groups," the news reporter was saying. An aerial shot of the clinic and the surrounding area flashed on the screen covering the plastic looking face of the woman news reported. "Four men have been found dead," this time four faces flashed across the screen. The only one Nat could really recognize was James. "And another two were injured, but have thus so far been unable to issue statements." Two more faces flashed across the screen. "Police believed that the disappearance of a young girl related to one of the victims and a stolen Dodge truck is connected to this crime. License plates and a photo are as follows." This time a photo of the Dodge, with it's printed old license plates flashed, staying for about thirty seconds. Then Nat's own face flashed across the screen with a 1-800 number below it. "Natalie Sims was last seen in her bedroom, sleeping, by her mother. If you see either her or the Dodge truck please call this number," and the reporter rattled it off, repeating it for good measure.

Nat was quiet as the news reporter offered the spot light over to her co-worker at some sports stadium. Magneto was quiet as well.

Nat had been suspecting some story such as this. She glanced at the clock above the door. 10:12, right on time, too. Nat should have been impressed. But there were holes in the story. They thought that this was the work of a terrorist group on the opposite side of the fence from Magneto. Some might have argued that a fanatic was a fanatic, nut Nat suspected that this little mistake would either be very good for Nat, or very, very bad. As Nat was not the type of person to be overly optimistic, she suspected strongly that it would be the latter. And second, it had said nothing about the money. Doubtless her mother had checked for it, a stolen car could mean stolen other things, but the reporter hadn't mentioned it in the least. Nat was the only one who would have known where the money was hidden, let alone of it's existence, making it quite obvious that Nat was the only one who could have taken it. Instead they had made it sound like Nat was some defense little girl that had been possibly kidnapped by the big, bad men.

Who on earth was feeding the media the bullshit story?

And no one had made mention of James either. With his rap sheet, he wasn't likely to have gone unidentified for long. And…two of those four men had not been killed like the other two had been. But that hadn't been mentioned either…._What on earth was going on_?

Very slowly Nat turned to look at Magneto, who stood near the bathroom, having heard the report as well as Nat had. He was looking back at Nat, a joyful look in his eyes. His gaze locked with Nat's and he smiled, a slow and frightening smile. "Are you sure my 'acts of terrorism' hold no interest for you, Miss Sims?"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: HIIIIIII!!! It's been so LONG! Wow, so i finally managed to get this writ, so I hope you all deeply appreciate my efforts in pleasing you all and not giving up. This one if all about Izzy, and hints a little at her power, but not much.

I have Bobby a lot in here, so tell me how i got him, yeah?

Sorry it took all thing time, but having a job, really interfeers with your hobbies, ya know? Due to my new experince in an office envirn, i'm thinking of trying to sneak one into one of my stories....Also, I got a plot bunny today. Hank changing a flat tire. Feel free to snag if you feel it. It don't know if i'll ever live it out.

PLEASE REVIEW! I WILL NOT POST ANOTHER CHAPTER NOT MATTER WHAT UNTIL I GET 20 REVIEWS! ANT THAT IS FINAL!!!!!

Chapter 8

After the old guy's gasping announcement the flock of mutants in the office fell silent and still.

Storm and Wolverine shared an expression of utter shock, while McCoy's face went blank. The reddish man looked curious. The golden boy's face was politely puzzled, something Izzy could relate to. Only she wasn't being overly polite about it.

Izzy frowned at the room in general, her gaze coming to rest on McCoy.

The blue man blinked slowly at her, and seemed to get over his blankness. He cleared his throat and that seemed to set the whole room in motion. The adults swarmed around the desk, speaking all at once, dashing here and there, crowding around the downs professor. Through the mass of arms and legs Izzy could see the old man being shifted back into his chair.

A large hand came down to rest on Izzy's shoulder and almost before she could process the fact, she was already cringing away from it, jerking her shoulder violently away from the touch. Lifting her head, and trying to slow her racing heart and rolling stomach, Izzy looked up at McCoy.

The big blue man lifted his hand pointedly away from her shoulder, looking slightly surprised. Izzy realized that she was scowling and had gone rigid at the touch. Keeping his hands up, McCoy jerked his head in the direction of the door.

Trying not to blush, Izzy shrugged her shoulders eloquently and stood, pretending not to be overly aware of the man behind her. She ambled towards the door, taking note that the only one who noticed their leaving was the blond guy. Summoning up her most cocky sneer Izzy walked out of the office.

McCoy shut the door behind him. It was a testament to the quality of the building that it completely cut off the din of the room they had left.

"So," Izzy said into the silence in the hall, shoving her hands into her pockets and rolling her head around to look at McCoy. "I assume that was about some prodigal son or something?"

"Or something. Now, let us see if we have someone about who might show you around." He turned towards the sound of pittering footsteps as the raced down the main staircase, just down the hall. "Bobby! Perfect!"

Izzy turned as well to see a very pretty young man stepping off the bottom of the stairs. He wasn't very tall, only about half a foot taller than Izzy's five three. He was lean in the way that a lot of teenage boys were. Awkwardly so, slowly filling out into the broadness that would one day be adult sized. He walked with an air of confidence and wore a warm and friendly expression. 'I wont judge you,' his eyes said, 'tell me all your feelings, and I'll be the big brother you never had.' Izzy could almost smell his perfection. He wore a t-shirt depicting some sport (snow boarding, maybe?), loose jeans and a pair of worn out sneakers. Very mellow preppy-jock. He smiled brightly at McCoy and spoke.

"Hey, Dr. McCoy, back so soon?"

God, Izzy though and resisted the urge to roll her eyes, he even sounded perfect, with his voice all friendly and respectful at the same time.

"Yes, we had a very swift trip. This is Izzy. I was wondering if you might show her to her room? Kitty should know which one it is. Perhaps a tour of the mansion as well?"

Bobby turned his attention to Izzy and it was only through sheer force of willpower that she didn't roll her eyes. He took one look at her face and his baby blues took on a slightly scornful look, one that said, my clique is so much better than yours that I will even deign to interact with you, little gothic girl'. His gaze traveled once down her body, lingering in all the expected places, making Izzy rethink her previous assumption. Maybe old Bob had a thing for the darker girls…

"Sure," the boy chirped. "It's no trouble."

Oh, how Izzy hated perfect people.

"You have my gratitude." McCoy turned and disappeared into the office, leaving Izzy and Bobby alone.

Bobby tried his warm smile on Izzy. "Hi," he grinned. "Welcome to Xavier's. I'm Bobby Drake. Robert, really, but I prefer Bobby." He offered his hand.

Izzy stared at his hand for a full ten seconds and then made a show of shoving her own hands deep into her pockets. Rolling her eyes up to his face, she mimicked the tone of his expression and voice and said, "Hi. Not really happy to be here at Xavier's. I'm Izzy Richter, Isabelle really, but I prefer Izzy." She smiled winningly at him, but made sure it didn't reached her eyes, and she met Bobby's baby blues.

"Uh…" Bobby said and slowly lowered his hand, blinking owlishly, like he didn't know quite what she meant.

Super, Izzy thought, prefect, pretty, and not really that quick. What a _nice_ combination.

Bobby cleared his throat and turned around, giving her his back and walked slowly away, obviously assuming Izzy would follow. She thought briefly about ignoring him and exploring the big fancy old place by herself, but McCoy's short summary wouldn't get her very far.

"This is the main floor," Bobby the Perfect was saying about ten feet in front of her, not noticing she wasn't right behind him. "Some classrooms, the professor's office, not much besides that. The second floor has a few more classrooms but mostly there are student rooms up there. That's where you will probably be. The floor below us has more classrooms, and the nurse's office and room. We've got a medical bay below that for more serious wounds."

Serious wounds at a prep school? Oh, my, we aren't in mutie Kansas any more. Izzy gave into the urge to roll her eyes this time, following the older boy to the end of the main hall, opposite from where she had first entered, from the garage.

"The basement levels are where all the big power training goes one. Logan teaches that, and Mr. LeBeau helps sometimes. LeBeau teaches French as an elective. It's a pretty cool class. He'll teach you to swear, once you get to second year. There also more stuff down there, but you'll be better off getting that down in your own."

They were walking down some stairs now. Izzy thinking of how old all the post wood paneling was going to get, and real fast, while Bob rambled on.

"Over in the west wing, we've got the mess hall and Teacher's rooms, and a few more classrooms as well as the library. Students keep track of the checkout system there, and you can take it as an elective, if you like books. Dr. McCoy supervises."

The stopped going down stairs and turned coming to another hall, almost identical to the one upstairs, but minus the grand and posturing stair case. He still rambled.

"Most of the teachers teach several subjects. McCoy teaches chemistry, algebra, calculus, and English lit. Ms. Munroe teaches World History and American history, as well as biology and algebra foundations, and any math lower than that. She's also in charge of the green house, and gardens, and you can be out there for an elective period, sort of like in the library. Must you've better like plants a lot, 'cause Storm will go psycho on you if you mess anything up."

Izzy scowled at the mention of the code name. But she supposed it wasn't as ridiculous as "Beast," or "Wolverine."

Bobby stopped in front of a door labeled "Computer Lab." He pushed it open and smiled at Izzy holding it wide, waiting for her to go in ahead of him.

Izzy stared at him blankly.

"Er…" Bobby took the hint, smart boy, and walked ahead, leading again and stopped a few feet in. He cleared his throat, and continued like nothing had happened. "This is the computer lab. It's open until 9:30 every day, and Kitty, or Shadowcat, is mostly in charge here. Mr. Worthington officially is in charge, but he's not better with computers than anyone else here is, so he just leaves it all to Kitty." With that he smiled over at a small face that had popped up over one of the computer screens a few rows back.

There were four rows of computers, as well as another row at the back, that was comprised of one computer and several empty long tables. A printer capped off every row, and off to Izzy's right was what looked like several supply shelves full of staples and paper and whatnot. Motion drew her eyes sharply back to her left just in time to see someone duck their head quickly behind a monitor. Shifting her eyes again, Izzy watched a petit brunette approach her and Bobby.

"Hi," she said brightly." Do we have the new girl already?"

Izzy took the time to study the brunette. She was delicate and pretty, with her short hair pinned back from her face. Her eyes glowed as she stared up at Bobby. Gag me, Izzy thought, she's got a crush on Bob.

"Yeah, this is Izzy."

"Hey, I'm Shadowcat."

Izzy stared at "Shadowcat." At least it sounded better than Wolverine, even if it was a bit… forced. It sounded edgy, but really, as her name was Kitty, it was just a dressing up of a rather unimpressive given name.

"Shadowcat" blinked at Izzy, so much like Bobby she almost laughed. She should probably say something, before the kitty cat's social skills went into hiding from the shock of not being answered in a likewise friendly fashion. "Hi," Izzy intoned.

Kitty-cat looked puzzled, but had the manners not to remark on it. Instead, she gave her manners a rest and dismissed Izzy completely to gaze up adoringly at Bobby, and flirt a little. "I've got a little free time later--wanna watch a movie? I think Jones saved _The Notebook_." Kitty-cat, in true feline tradition, gazed coyly up at Bobby, fluttering her eyes a little.

_The Notebook_? For real? Gross, and waaaaaay obvious. Miss Kitty needed to practice her subtlety--but then again, old Bob wasn't turning out to be that quick about the whole thinking thing, so she would probably be perfectly fine.

Kitty-cat tilted her head to the side then, and reached up to flutter at the part of her bangs that she had tucked behind her ear. Izzy decided that she wanted to throw her a bridal shower full of naughty toys and shameless debauchery when Perfect Kitty married Perfect Bobby. They were a superficial match made in a shallow heaven, with a divorce right around the corner from the honeymoon suit.

Izzy made a retching sound, and placed and hand on her stomach, clearing her throat loudly and taking a sudden and deep interest in the supply shelves when the Perfect Pair came to look at her. "My, what large ink cartridges you have, Grandma," she remarked to the wall.

There was a movement again, and the unmistakable sound of repressed laughter. Izzy flickered her eyes sharply to the left, seeing the movement again. Hmmm, she thought.

"We need Izzy's room assignment. Dr. McCoy said you would have it."

"Oh," Kitty-cat said. "Right. I'll just go get it." She fixed Izzy with a hard look and walked pointedly to the nearest computer. Keeping her gaze leveled at Izzy, she nonchalantly reached a hand through the computer making the printer at the end of the room chime and murmur.

Izzy gave Kitty wide and blank eyes, tilting her head in a mockery of the other girls earlier action, and letting her own bangs fall across her face.

Bobby skipped forward and snagged the paper out of the printer. "Kitty can phase through things," he said unnecessarily.

Kitty smirked at her, though she hid it behind an inquiring smile. "What's your mutation, Izzy?"

Oh, good Lord. Izzy returned Kitty-cat's expression. "It not nearly as impressive, Cat, my dear," she demurred sweetly.

Kitty scowled at the name, but Bobby looked a bit curious at this, and decided to prove his slowness once again. "I can make and manipulate ice and the cold. Iceman, is my alias."

"My, my what a cool power," Izzy remarked blandly. There was that suppressed laugh noise again. But the Perfect Pair appeared puzzled. But they took the hint.

"I'll show you your room, then we can check out the rest of the grounds. I don't have class until ten, so we should be okay until then. I doubt it'll take that long tog et around to everything." Bobby waved at Kit-Cat and walked out of the room, again assuming that Izzy would follow.

She waited a bit, staring at Kitty-cat. Slowly, she grinned widely at the other girl and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. Izzy leered, then sniggered at the girl's shocked expression, and swept out of the room to catch up with Tour Guide Bobby.

Izzy would have liked to think recent events over, but the noise of Bob's incessant chatter was to grating to provide much opportunity. She satisfied herself with memorizing the path back up to the main hall and from there up the stairs to her room.

"This is it," Bobby announced as he opened the door for her.

The room was bigger than she had expected, the walls a pale green, and thankfully lacking to endless paneling that plagues the hallways. The dark brown curtains hung off of two windows, and framed a desk with a dormant computer nestled there. The other three walls were occupied by twin beds, and two doors faced each other on the walls not featured with the entrance or the windows. A bland landscape hung above the desk.

"You'll share the bathroom with the girls next door, but there is another larger one at the end of the hall." He pointed, but Izzy didn't bother to look. "And I'm just across the hall if you ever have any questions." He smiled and made direct eye contact, then, leaning forward.

Old Bob was turning out to be a bit of a man whore. "Thanks," she said, adopting Kitty's earlier tones. "But don't worry. If it's a good day, I can usually tie my shoes all by myself."

Bobby frowned, doubtless wondering why Izzy was being so open and not really getting her point. "Uh…" He said.

Izzy shook her head. "You said something about a green house?"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: OKay so after two days of battle for the ability to post my chapt, here it is. This is all from Scott's point of view, like last chapter was all from Izzy. Please tell me what you think, as Scott is one of me least fav. characters in X-men, so I struggly with him a bit. This is all a flashback about Emma'a time with Xavier, or at least my version of it.

I have not followed any cannon for this little memory, so all the liberties i've taken are my own, as I am writing from Movie-verse. Please, At least 20 reviews, now, before i start the next chapt. I really do want to know what you all think. It's a big help, and reading them makes me want to write more and keeps my steam alive.

Chapter 9

Emma Frost. The name struck so many childhood memories in Scott. She had come to the mansion around the same time that Scott had, and their circumstances couldn't have been more different.

He had been a scrawny scared kid, distrustful and in dire need of having his mouth washed out with soap. A former hustler, he hated to have people touch him, or even look at him funny, which had been the source of a lot of arguments between himself and Jean in the early days. Jean had always been a touchy-feely person. Jean had nurtured him, cared for him, forcing her way under his skin, until one day Scott had realized that he cared for her right back.

Emma however, she was young, rich, spoiled, and very arrogant. Clashing with Jean over their shared telepathic gifts, the front lawn had been a common place for telepathic battles of will, usually ending in a draw. Emma was as icy was Jean had been warm, distant and haughty the only person that she had grown close to, surprisingly, had been the older Hank, in and out of the school as her danced his way through the beginnings of his myriad degrees.

And with Scott… the two teens had recognized in each other one of the many personality traits they shared. It was a gleam in the eye, a will to survive; to do anything to stay on top, to get so far ahead they wouldn't have to worry about looking behind them. Emma had been willing to use and manipulate people to achieve this, and Scott had been willing to be used and manipulated.

They had danced around each other for days, and while Jean was trying to comfort the frightened child he had been, Emma had respected what he was.

The two women had been very similar polar opposites.

Scott could remember with their rivalry had changed into something more. It was right after Xavier had sent them out into the real world, to fight as he wanted them to, to help the others like them. Scott knew, looking back, that they had been far from ready.

It had been an experimental facility, full of mutants trapped in cages and angry, morally corrupt doctors and scientists. The five of them-- Scott, Hank, Emma, Jean and Ororo-- had split into two groups. In one Hank, Ororo and Jean would free the mutants that were being kept, and in the other Emma and himself would destroy all the files and records kept on said mutants, as well as erase the memories of all the personnel at the facility. Jean had also been charged with this task.

"Where to next?" Scott had panted, out of breath from the dash from the basement to the library, a trail of melted and destroyed machinery and rooms behind the pair.

Emma and turned upon the collapse of the two guards, her eyes glittery and out of breath as well. She frowned for a moment and said "Still forward. The main computer databases should be at the end of this hall."

It hadn't occurred to Scott then to question Emma's actions, he himself had been so unfamiliar with telepaths despite living with three.

When they had arrived at said room, two bulky men a whirled about from watching the screens that covered one wall and jerked up rather odd looking weapons. As quickly as they had turned, they lowered their weapons and floated out of the room, much to graceful for beings with so much muscle.

To this day, Scott could not forget the glassy, empty look in their eyes.

"Those are it," Emma had announced, pointing to the wall opposite the screens.

"On it," Scott had replied, thinking nothing of taking orders from Emma. It had seemed an incredibly natural thing to do.

While Scott's world had flashed red, Emma had drifted closer to the screens.

"Oh, darling," Emma said after a moment of silence, the smoldering hardware sending rancid smells into the air. "I believe your little teddy-bear is making Hank and Stormy-girl wait for us."

Scott turned around, his eyes safely covered by his visor. On the screen above Emma's head a small picture of a visibly upset Jean blared out, flickering occasionally. She was waving her arms, gesturing down the hall towards what, Scott couldn't tell. Hank seemed to be trying to calm her, waving a hand towards the opposite end of the hallway. Storm danced nervously behind Hank, her head swiveling to and fro. Then what Jean had been gesturing at came into view, the two guards from before, still floating oddly on their feet, undeterred in their destination by the sight of the three young people in the hall. Jean continued to gesture, but Hank and Ororo went still, staring at the men as they floated around them and continued down the hall.

Scoot leaned closer, squinting at the screen in an attempt to see the tiny figures of his fledgling friendships more closely. Jean was crying.

Scott felt something go tight in his chest, spreading until it clogged his throat. Without a word to Emma he fled the room, heading back to their rendezvous spot. He could have sworn he heard Emma sigh behind him.

It took Scott only a matter of minutes to reach Jean and the others. Jean turned towards his pounding approach, her face pale and tear-stained, big brown eyes wide. Scott thought for a moment that Emma calling her his teddy bear was oddly applicable.

"Scott…" Jean had whispered.

"Scott." Hank's voice was deep and serious. Commanding in the way that only an adult's could be. "What did you let Emma do?"

"Emma? Wha--?"

"Honestly. You all act as if the boogey-man has just arrived." Emma waltzed down the hall, arms crossed, looking as grand and aloof as she always did.

"Emma," Hank said, still using his adult voice. "What have you done?"

"Apparently the boogey-man is me." There was a petulant note in Emma's voice.

"How could you?" Storm was the youngest of their group at thirteen. A very pretty and fragile looking girl, though fragile was not the thing to describe the tough life the child had lived through. She was now looking at Emma as though she actually were the boogey-man.

Scott had frowned at his compatriots. "How could she what?"

"You destroyed those men, Emma. How could you do something so awful?" Jean sounded as appalled as Ororo.

Emma turned to stare at Jean, her disdain obvious as she gazed at the lanky red-head. "How could I, Jeannie? How could they? Cage us up like we're animals, and then use us for everything that they hate. How can you? They deserved much more than I gave them. If I could, I would have left them screaming for all the pain they have ever inflicted on a mutant."

"Emma, they were only doing what they were told. They were only trying to feed their families."

Emma scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Don't be so naive, Jeannie. Those men were worse than animals, and will walk themselves to their own death, which is no more that they deserve, and quite a bit less. You should be doing the same thing is you cared at all about the mutant race. We are the ones that will win the war."

Silence and horrified expressions met the end of Emma's speech.

Jean was the one who spoke first, tear-horse voice ringing in the wake of the words. "This is NOT a war, Emma. The Professor is going to have quite a bit to say about this when we return to the mansion. Let's go."

Emma sneered and stuck her nose in the air. "That old idealist has really gotten you trained up nice, hasn't he, Jeannie?"

"Trained? I would think you would know all about that, princess." Ororo snapped at Emma, moving from behind Hank, to stand beside Jean. "It obvious now that your prejudices and tricks took better to your memory, than ours ever did. What good parenting."

The blond girl turned her attention to Storm, then. "Why don't you just go back to your hut?"

Ororo's face flushed with anger, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Hank cut her off. "Not now, ladies. We must make our escape. There is plenty of tie to debate this issue later."

Hank, still making use of his adult voice, managed to rush then all back outside, to the jet, and away to the mansion. Hurrying up the ramp behind Jean, Scott had whispered, "What did Emma do, Jean?"

Jean stopped just outside the doorway of the jet. Her eyes, still rimmed red, were solemn as she gazed down at Scott.

"She killed them, Scott. She destroyed their minds. They are nothing more than animated brain-dead."

The next morning, as the sun was creeping up and lighting up the pale fog about the estate, Scott had woken to the sounds of a car starting. When he had made his way down to breakfast a few hours later, the seat the Emma had usually occupied, the one between Hank and himself was empty. Jean, on his other side had reached out and rubbed his shoulder until he had started eating his waffles.

The Professor, on Jean's other side, was grimly staring at his own plate. "You've won one, Erik," he had whispered.

No one but Scott seemed to hear.

*!*

Scott stared at the grown up Emma before him and blinked. "A cure?" He whispered, a feeling of dread rising in his stomach. "Emma, why can I see?"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Why HELLOOOOOOOOO, it has been so LONG. I decided to take mercy on myself and just post the stinkin' chapter since all of you obvioulsy didn't feel like taking pity on me and giving me my requested reviews.

To all those who reviewed: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH~ THANK YOU~~~~~

To all those who didn't review: *blows raspberry* JERKS!

But oh, well, que sera, sera, what ever will be, will be....I had a difficult time nailing Scott, i don't fee like i'm getting him right..I might go back and read some of my comic,s watch the movies again, see if i can get into his head a little better...Please tell me what you think, even if you think it is poo. I can't really tell you how much getting a review makes me want to write more.

Chapter Ten

The room wasn't bad, all things considered. The walls were a pale, mellow green, and the furniture was as tasteful and wooden as the rest of the mansion. There were two twin size beds here, two dressers, and one desk in front of the only window of the room. On it sat a boxy computer, only a few years out of date. There had been clean bed clothes folded neatly at the end of the bed, simple sheets of white and a comforter and pillowcases of a deep royal blue. It was actually pretty if you went for the preppy look when choosing bed room décor.

Izzy had made her bed as soon as she had been able to escape old Bob, and laid down on it, stretching her legs out and draping her arms around her body in a careless flop. And then, horrors of all horrors, she had settled down to do some thinking.

If Izzy know her mother, and she did, she knew that her personal belongings would be here by the end of the night. The clothes issue would be taken care of. However, that still left the question of this whole new living arrangement in order. She had to room to herself, but according to Cookie Monster, that would change at any moment, so it would be best to keep aware at all times. On top of that would be the classes that she would have to pick up on, hopefully at the same level as her last school. She couldn't be certain however, as this place was a private school, even if it was for freaks and muties.

Izzy sighed and swung a hand up to rub her forehead. She suspected that this place would be even harder to navigate to her liking, especially given the fact that all of her new classmates would expect her to be open and relieved now that she was among her "own kind." Now she wouldn't be able to just ignore the world, and have the world politely return the favor. No, she would be getting tons of attention, what with all of her new-girl-appeal. Too much attention, if this afternoon was to be any indication.

The rest of the tour of the mansion had included several classes that we in session, as she was being introduced to all of the part-time teaching staff. She had received wide eyes from her fellows, as the teachers had all just nodded and greeted her lightly, dismissing her as soon as she left with good ole' boy, Bob-o. Izzy didn't have to see them to know they whispered as soon as her back was turned. Her appearance was always enough for at least that. All of this hype would just mean more visitors, more people looking to become acquainted with her to get her story, maybe make a friend that would lead to some fun but illegal benefits. This just meant more hands to avoid shaking.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings, and Izzy hauled herself to her bare feet to answer, knowing that this was only the start. Pausing with a hand on the doorknob to compose her face into a suitable expression of boredom and distant preoccupation. To promote this air, Izzy only opened her door enough to show her face and a shoulders, gazing out at the girl that stood there. When the girl didn't speak, merely blinked out at her, Izzy arched a brow and asked. "Did you want something?"

"Oh! Um…" the girl looked away, blushing and mumbling with a faint twang. "Storm wanted to see you."

Sto-orm wanted tah see yew, was how she pronounced the sentence. Izzy felt her mouth twitch at the name. "Well, I suppose I must go this Sto-orm." Izzy returned, mockingly.

The girl frowned, a light leaping to her eyes. She tilted her head to the side and stepped back when Izzy opened her door further. "I suppose you should."

Izzy did a double take then, looking back to the girls face to gaze it a closer examination. Her eyes were bright, and there was a hard set to her mouth. Her long light brown hair was pulled into a pony tail at the back of her head, all but obscuring the streak of white. She had dark eyes, and was wearing a dark sweater over dark jeans, concluded with an worn pair of red Converse. She had the type of body most boys would have liked, but she carried herself with an almost rebellious air, just daring someone to say something.

"Huh," Izzy said, as she concluded her appraisal. "Lead the way, nameless Tiger Lily."

The other looked at Izzy funnily, then, but Izzy just grinned her most vacant smile, and waited for her to start moving.

Eventually they came back down to the main floor, by way of the great staircase, and passed by the old guy's office and around he corner, taking the turn opposite the stairs that led up from the garage. The hallway soon changed into a long row of windows that looked out over the lawn and the greenhouse, with a coniferous wood looming in the distance. On her tour earlier, Bobby had said something about there being a lake somewhere down a wooded trail, or something equally as clichéd.

Near the end of the hall the girl stopped. She placed her hand on a door to her left and knocked loudly. The voice of the African woman from earlier answered. "Come in!"

The girl smiled at Izzy, in what Izzy assumed was supposed to be a supporting way, but honestly it was just awkward and empty. Izzy returned the expression brightly and walked past her, pushing the door open.

"I'm Rogue, by the way," the girl said, and turned to walk quickly away.

Izzy felt her face turn into a sneer at the name. Izzy just really hoped that wasn't the girl's birth name. It was a little…trying, a little fake, like the girl, Rogue, was trying just a bit too hard. She sighed and shook her head, looking forward to the woman sitting behind her desk, surrounded by a myriad of plants and sitting in the brilliant afternoon late winter sun.

"Hi," the woman greeted Izzy warmly. "Please have a seat."

Izzy donned her best, most blank expression and sat, pointedly not returning a greeting.

"I'm Ms. Munroe, or Storm, when we're outside the classroom. We just need to get your classes in order, then we can get you started on school. Hank gave me your transcripts, and old files from your last school. I think from your records--"

Izzy rolled her eyes, making Storm stumble over her words a bit, but the woman continued on, a little taken aback. This woman was a prime example of the typical, good-hearted teacher. She would be easy as pie.

"--that we should try putting you in higher level classes. Your test scores are really, quite good, and I think with our smaller class sizes, you'll do better in the classroom."

Wait…What? Higher classes? Honors? It was now Izzy's turn to look taken a aback. What?

"What?"

"I think your, ah, behavior issues can be solved quite easily here, Isabelle. You no longer have any reason to hold people away from you."

What? How…What? Then it snapped. The old guy, he was a telepath. Bastard. Apparently while he had been spewing the merits of his institution, he had also gone fishing through Izzy's mind and memories. Izzy scowled.

"Do you have anything to say, Isabelle?" Storm inquired sweetly, too sweetly for Izzy's tastes.

"I can't say I really care, Ms.--" Izzy was careful to draw the word out and make it as insulting as she could-- "Munroe."

Storm raised her eye brows in response, and wordlessly handed a piece of paper across her desk to Izzy. Izzy stared at it, slowly counting to ten in her head, thinking about ripping it in half as soon as she accepted it, but refrained and took it gently, folding it crisply in half, and flashing a sickly sweet smile at the room.

Izzy waited a second or two, and when Storm didn't say anything else, she stood up and exited the office without a word.

*!*

Emma Frost was beautiful and Emma Frost knew it. Scott could tell she was aware of every move she made, and every reaction to every move. That had been another difference between he and Jean. Jean had always been oblivious to her physical appeal, while Emma was aware of it, and took every opportunity to exploit it.

But despite Scott's thoughts on his fiancée, or rather former fiancée, if that footage, had been anything to go by, the man found himself flowing Emma's body around the white marble rooms as she made tea, served it, and gave instructions to her three MiniMe's. The Stepford Cuckoo's, Emma had called the three smaller, near perfect blond girls who bore an eerie similarity to Emma herself.

"I'll ask you again, Emma," Scott said bringing his eyes up to her icily perfect face, and blinking past the images of Jean that flashed before his eyes, "What am I doing here? Where are all the others? What happened to me?"

_Why can I see?_

Emma smiled at Scott from her seat across the room, a vision of white, with glimpses of her pale skin framed by the color. "Must we go over this again, darling? That is all irrelevant. What you need to know now, is that all of this has been a sham. That miserable cure they put out isn't working like they thought it would, and all of the weaklings who took it are finding this out now, yet there has still been no release to the public on the dangerous after effects of taking it."

Scott could only stare at the woman, at his former classmate and think about all of her actions, starting at the facility was back when. Years later, she had resurfaced as a part of a power hungry crime circle that called themselves the Hellfire Club, Emma going by the code name White Queen.

"Why does that involve me, then Emma? I didn't take they cure, and now I'm as powerless as if I did. Why did you save me?"

"Well, apart form it being a dreadful waste of a pretty male body, you, Scott, are the only one who can get me to the resources that I need to fix what the media and government is over looking. You are the only one who can get me close enough to Xavier and his X-men so that I can make use of their resources."


End file.
